


No Recollection Of The Night Before

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthea wakes up in a bed that is not her own, with her boss beside her, with both of them stark naked and no recollection of the previous night's events. Fortunately what could have been quite embarrassing turns out to be the start of something quite lovely, or so she hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Recollection Of The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> So I got an anonymous prompt in my Tumblr inbox this morning that said _mythea, please. first morning after awkwardness with fluff. give me diabetes._ I don't know if it's _quite_ that saccharine, but I tried. The poem they quote is "To Anthea, who may Command him Anything" by Robert Herrick.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Thanks to **NotJane** for telling me the correct name of the poem and informing me there's more of them!

She languidly stretched in bed, and it took her a moment to realize she was stark naked under the very fine sheets on this bed. She didn’t have a scrap of clothing on, not even her knickers. And things seemed quite…fuzzy, she realized. She couldn’t have been drugged, could she? She tried to think for a moment. There had been the gala at the Savoy Hotel, and then afterward she had gone to Mycroft’s home, and… _oh_.

She cautiously opened up her eyes and saw she was not, in fact, occupying the bed alone. And the other occupant also seemed to be as stark naked as she was. She slid under the sheets and quilt a bit more. She’d shagged her boss. She’d actually gone and acted on impulse and shagged _Mycroft Holmes_ and she couldn’t remember a bloody thing about it. She’d been fantasizing about doing it for a whole year now and she’d actually _done_ it and she couldn’t remember anything.

She sighed and then began to plan her escape. She doubted she would be so lucky that he wouldn’t remember; he had the memory of an elephant. She would need to work out the particulars of getting dressed first, then getting out of the room at the hotel without being seen and making her way to her own room, or better yet to her flat in SoHo, and then see what repercussions there would be to her career for indulging in her baser desires.

She slowly started to lift the sheets and quilt away from her when she heard him move. She froze, not quite sure what he planned on doing She looked over and saw he was awake, looking up at her. “Trying to escape?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him, saw an underlying sense of hurt in his gaze, and then decided it would hurt more if she lied. She nodded. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me here when you woke up,” she said.

“Ah,” he replied, nodding slightly.

Now she was puzzled. “’Ah,’ what?” she asked.

“You had more to drink than I realized,” he said. “If it helps, I did too.”

She let the quilt fall back down as she settled on the bed, rolling to her side to face him. “How do you know you had too much to drink?” she asked. “Is it because you ended up in bed with me?”

“No,” he said, turning his head to face her. “I had only planned to have just enough to drink. Just enough to convince me I wasn’t chasing after someone who didn’t want me. Just enough to convince me to, perhaps, your feelings towards me were more than just fond and friendly. Just enough to convince me it was a good idea to kiss you. I know I had more than that because I have vague recollections of spouting romantic poetry.”

She gave him a small smile. “You, Mycroft? Being romantic?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured. He rolled over onto his side to face her. “You have the tendency to turn me into a blubbering schoolboy in my head. I’m surprised I don’t blush and stammer all over the place. It just proves I’m a superior actor.”

“Mmm, you are quite convincing,” she said. “I thought for sure you thought of me as nothing more than your Gal Friday.”

“There were times I swore that there was something between us that I couldn’t explain. Something more than mere sentiment. And that something was dangerous. Caring is a disadvantage. But…I didn’t care.” He reached over and ran his fingers along her cheek, and she shut her eyes and savored his touch. “I still don’t.”

“So you do care?” she asked, looking at him intently when she opened her eyes.

“Even though I shouldn’t,” he said.

She gave him a grin. “Good.” She reached up and grasped his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing his palm. He gave her a small, contented smile which she had to admit looked much nicer on her face then the stern frowns he usually wore. “I just wish I remembered what happened last night.”

“I think I can remember the poem I recited,” he said, moving closer to her. He reached over and took her hand, returning the favor and kissing her palm. “Bid me to live, and I will live thy Protestant to be; or bid me love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.” He then moved lower and kissed her wrist. “A heart as soft, a heart as kind, a heart as sound and free, as in the whole world thou canst find, that heart I'll give to thee.”

She warmed as he made his way farther down her arm. She knew this poem quite well; it was what her code name had come from. “Bid that heart stay, and it will stay to honor thy decrees,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Or bid it languish quite away, and't shall do so for thee.”

“So you know it as well,” he murmured.

“Of course I do,” she said as e nudged her onto her back and he hovered over her. “You picked my code name. Did you think I wouldn’t memorize the poem?”

“I had thought you might,” he said. He pressed a kiss on her shoulder. “Bid me to weep, and I will weep, while I have eyes to see: And, having none, yet I will keep a heart to weep for thee.” He pressed his lips to her pulse point next and she shivered. If her body reacted to a simple kiss this way last night must have been amazing. “Bid me despair and I'll despair, under that cypress-tree: Or bid me die, and I will dare, e'en death to die for thee.”

She looked up at him as he stared down at her, and she framed his face in her hands. “Thou art my life, my love, my heart, the very eyes of me,” she said softly, smiling at him.

“And hast command of every part to live and die for thee,” he said with a small grin in return before he leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back and relished it. She might not remember the night before right now. She might not ever remember it. But she could remember the morning after, and the poem they recited, and the promise that seemed to entail. And that, she was fairly sure, would be enough for her.


End file.
